Thistle & Weeds
by Yvearia
Summary: *On Indefinite Hiatus* The team works to connect a string of disappearances to the grizzly murder of a young mother, taking them across state lines, and eventually leading back to the District. Hotch, Rossi, Morgan, Garcia, Reid & Prentiss. *Rated M for a reason*
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: **No** characters original to the Criminal Minds television series, in any way, belong to me. There are references to extreme violence throughout the following work of fiction, as well as strong (offensive) language. Please be aware of this as you continue to read this story.

* * *

Cecily Allen sat outside the Borders cafe staring lazily at the darkened touch-screen of her phone. The sun was sinking behind the buildings and the air was starting to smell like rain. She pulled her legs out from underneath her as she glanced around the corner of the bookstore. She hadn't brought an umbrella and her coat was stuffed in the bottom of her locker at the PT office where she worked. She'd planned on walking home, but plans often changed. She made sure she had her metro pass before she stood up with her lukewarm coffee in hand and headed for the station.

She made it to the train before the air became heavy with moisture and sank into a seat near the back of the last passenger car.

"Allen?" She heard someone call from her periphery. She ignored it since nobody had called her by her last name since high school. "Allen?" she heard again. "Girl, is that you? Cecily Allen?"

There was only one person she knew who would greet her that way. Candice Pierce.

"Hi, Candice." The young woman walked across the train car to take a seat next to Cecily.

"Al!" She leaned over to give Cecily a very enthusiastic, uninvited hug. Cecily took it with as much grace as she could manage before pulling away a few seconds later. "What are you doing here, girl? I thought you were going to school out of state."

"Well… plans changed," she mumbled. "What about you? You were going into the L.A.T. program in – where was it – Arkansas?"

"Oh, still am. I'm just visiting family in Alexandria. Came up here for the day to see the sights." The train began to slow for the next station. "Oh, there's my stop," she frowned and dug around in her purse for something, eventually producing a pen. "I've got some news, that's why I'm here." She grabbed Cecily's hand and began jotting down a phone number. "Call me, ok? I leave on Sunday."

"Yeah," she nodded. "Safe trip." Cecily watched the other girl exit to the platform and walk off as the train began moving once again toward the next station and her stop.

….

_Sometimes a man is a fool when he thinks he's wise_

_And he just can't see what's before his own eyes_

_Sometimes the truth is hard to find._

~ Yoav Sadan

Reid stood in the kitchenette area of the BAU, sifting through the drawers looking for a spoon. He held a pint of Hagen Daz ice cream in his other hand.

"Don't mind if I do. Yum," Garcia chirped as she snatched the container from him and deftly produced a spoon from another drawer.

"Hey!" His shoulders slumped in defeat for a moment, before he grabbed a spoon and commenced to help Garcia put a dent in the chocolate ice cream.

"I know your mom taught you to share," she teased between mouthfuls.

"I was an only child, remember?" With that comment Garcia re-lidded the container and shoved it back into the freezer.

"Well, I hate to cut our sharing lesson short, handsome, but we've got a case. C'mon." He dropped his spoon into the sink, and followed Garcia into the conference room. Emily sat at the table next to Morgan, who was smiling and typing a text into his phone. He took a seat to the other side of Emily as Garcia passed them all case folders.

Emily turned to him and a quizzical look began to cross her features.

"'Morning…" Reid greeted her.

"What is that…?" She reached a hand towards his mouth and wiped a bit of chocolate from the corner of his lips.

"Hagen Daz," Garcia grinned cheerfully.

"How can you eat that stuff and stay so thin?" Emily shook her head in mock disgust. Reid began to open his mouth. "Don't say 'a high metabolism'," she quipped. He just shut his mouth and smiled sheepishly.

Just then Hotch and Rossi entered the conference room. "Let's get started, everyone. Garcia."

"Yes sir." Garcia turned to the screen at the front of the room and began the case briefing. "This is Candice Pierce, Junior at Harding University in Arkansas." The screen flashed to a picture of a pretty, pale redhead playing with a corgi puppy. "The school's Assistant Athletic Trainer reported her missing two weeks ago. And her purse was found in a public restroom at the BWI train station two days later. Her ID was inside and the local police contacted her parents who live in Alexandria."

"Why weren't her parents the ones who reported her missing?" Morgan asked.

"She was taking the train to the BWI Airport the Sunday before she was reported missing. She had just come home for a weekend visit and was heading back to Searcy Arkansas. She's studying to be an L.A.T. When she didn't show for classes or football practice on Monday, the trainer reported her missing. He says it's extremely out of character for her to miss a practice. Here's the thing though," Garcia clicked the remote and the screen flashed to another picture. "Her purse was literally dripping in blood when they found it… and it wasn't Candice's blood." She was quiet for a moment as she stared at the gruesome picture.

"Garcia…" Hotch prompted.

"Sorry, sir. The blood matched the DNA of an, as of yet, unidentified stabbing victim found in Anacostia Park four days ago." She brought up a picture of the victim lying on an autopsy table. "She was wearing a necklace belonging to Jessica Austen, another missing girl from U. Mass. Her dad says Jessica never takes that necklace off."

"Any connection so far between victims?" Rossi asked.

"Candice and Jessica went to the same high school in Alexandria, but parents say they weren't close. Candice was twenty-one and Jessica would have turned twenty-two next month. And according to the M.E., Jane Doe is about the same age."

"Jane Doe and Candice are both redheads, that could be this guy's type," Emily offered.

"Yeah, but no. Jessica is so blond her hair is nearly white," Garcia switched to a picture of a slender, blonde woman wearing a high school letterman jacket. "Since two of the missings are from Alexandria, the local police have asked for our help."

"Alright, I'll go speak with the Pierces and Mr. Austen. Rossi, go speak to the M.E. and see if there's any way we can try to identify Jane Doe. Morgan and Prentice, make a trip up to U. Mass, and then over to Harding. Try to make some connections there. Reid and Garcia will stay here and work on victimology." Hotch stood and made his way out the door.

"Looks like we get to work on that sharing thing again, cutie," Garcia smirked.

….

"Jessie's been missing for six weeks, Agent Hotchner. I've already accepted the possibility that she may not be coming back, but when the police called about the necklace…" Mr. Austen looked like something had knocked the wind completely out of him.

"I understand it's uncommon for her to go long periods of time out of touch."

"We talked several times a week like clockwork. Her mother died in a car accident when the kids were thirteen and fifteen. Then her brother passed when Jessie was nineteen. She was all the family I had. Jason gave her that necklace for Christmas one year and he died three months later. That's why it was always on her; it was the last gift he gave her."

"Was Jessica planning a visit back to Alexandria around the time of her disappearance?" Hotch walked around the Austen house looking at the family pictures while the family members in them began to dwindle.

"She came home on school holidays."

"Had she mentioned anybody new in her life? A boyfriend or a classmate that she spent a lot of time with? A new neighbor?"

"No. She spent most of her time with the other kids in her program. She was pretty devoted to school. She never said she was seeing anyone."

"And she was studying Physical Therapy?" Hotch picked up a picture of about a dozen girls and a few guys in the same high school letterman jackets. Before the father had a chance to answer, Hotchner recognized the redheaded Candice Pierce in the midst of the group. "This is Candice Pierce, isn't it, Mr. Austen?"

"I think there was a Candice on the team. It's hard to remember all their names. Jessie wasn't close with that girl though. Most of her friends were in the grades ahead of her like Lauren and Micky."

….

Reid closed his cell phone as he turned back to Garcia who was seated in front of her multiple lcd's. "Morgan and Emily just landed in Massachusetts. I talked to Hotch, too. He spoke with Jessica's father, and he's on his way to the Pierce home now. He said that Jessica and Candice not only went to school together, but they were on the student sports medicine staff together. He thinks that could be a connection."

"Well, I'll see what I can find on our Jane Doe. I'm running her face through my facial recognition software now."

"When she was found she was wearing only underwear and a bra."

"And her panties were pulled down to her knees," Garcia shook her head in disgust.

"But the M.E. confirmed there hadn't been a sexual assault. Maybe the underwear was manipulated to throw off the police. Clothing was never found, leaving us one less mode of identification."

"Very interesting."

"Not really. It's common for an unsub to remove clothing in order to make identification more difficult. If any clothing items had been specialty, or sold exclusively at certain stores within the last five years, we could narrow down her identity from store sales records on credit card purchases. Actually we might be able to do that with her bra and panties…"

"No. Not that, sweetie. Although, it is sadly tedious of you to get so excited about women's lingerie. I found Candice Pierce's blog. Come here and take a look at this juicy piece of filet mignon."

"'Tim's taking me to the airport on Friday morning. The plan is to tell Mom and Daddy, but we'll see. I just wish he could have come with me. They haven't even met him yet, and I know they aren't too happy we're together. But there's no going back now. It may mean I have to take some extra time off school, but I always knew this is what I wanted to do with my life. Wish me luck, everybody. I hope I don't get too sick on the plane, those bathrooms are so tiny.' What's that in the bottom corner, there?" Reid asked, pointing to a floating calendar.

"That, my young, male friend, is a pregnancy ticker. Counts down to 'D Day'. I helped J.J. set one up on the family website they had for Henry."

"She's almost five months pregnant by now."

"Wonder if she ever actually told the parental units?"

"You mean her Mom and Dad?"

"Honey, you are so innocent and untouched by pop culture."

"I'll call Hotch and fill him in," Reid said, ignoring her teasing.

"Hey, while you do that, be a doll and grab that ice cream out of the kitchen, will ya?"

He frowned at her as he left the tiny room.

"Two spoons; you need to work on that sharing thing!"

….

Morgan and Emily followed the dorm's R.A. down the hall to the suite Jessica had shared with her roommate. Girls began to slow as they passed Morgan on his way through the halls.

"I'm guessing you had no trouble finding dates in college," Emily muttered under her breath.

"Who, me? I'm nothing special," he grinned.

"And I'm sure you'd like me to think this isn't the first time you've been in a girl's dorm, too," she smiled back.

"Now why you gotta be hateful?"

"Here we are," the R.A. announced as she stopped short in front of them. She knocked quickly and called through the door, "Liz, the F.B.I. are here!"

The door opened swiftly to a teary eyed brunette in an oversized sweater and jeans. "You found Jessie?"

"I'm going now," the R.A. announced with a cold smile.

"Elizabeth Ryan?" The girl nodded. "I'm Agent Emily Prentice, this is S.S.A. Derek Morgan. May we step inside?"

"C'min," Liz sniffled and stepped back to admit them into the little suite.

Emily glanced around the room taking in the furnishings. There were pictures of the roommates lining the walls, mostly together. There was a small kitchenette and a smaller bathroom. A large desk held two laptops and a small pub table and two chairs were backed into a corner near the kitchen. There was only one bed.

"Please… have a seat," the girl motioned to the table and chairs. "You want tea? I was just making some."

"That's not necessary, Elizabeth. Why don't you sit down and we can talk."

"Liz. You found her? She's dead, isn't she?" Liz remained standing.

"No! No, Liz. We didn't find her." Emily said quickly.

"Then… why are you here?"

"We want to talk to you. You've lived with Jessie for two semesters, right? You probably know her better than anyone on campus," Morgan guessed correctly. She nodded. "The better we get to know Jessie, the faster we can find her."

"Do you think… you don't think she just ran away from this place, do you?"

"It's a possibility. But according to her dad, it's very unlikely. If someone took Jessie, figuring out why will give us a better chance of finding her sooner. You can help us do that," Morgan said gently.

"What do you need to know?"

….

"No. It wasn't the knife wounds that killed her."

"But the autopsy report said…"

"It said her cause of death was exsanguination, Agent Rossi. The knife wounds are postmortem." The M.E. pointed to the stab wounds on the woman's upper abdomen. "There's no sign of inflammation or bleeding to these wounds. And look at this," she placed her hands under the opposite side of the body and lifted to expose the woman's backside to Rossi.

"No lividity," he said curiously. "You estimated she had been in the park three days before the body was discovered. Are you saying she bled out, but not from the knife wounds?"

"My guess is that she was _drained_."

"Dr., you aren't joking about 'vampire' bites…"

"No," the M.E. was not amused. "There is a clean, precise incision to her femoral artery – not a stab wound, an incision."

"Thank you," Rossi turned away from the body as he reached for his phone, ringing in his pocket. "Yeah, Reid?"

"I had Garcia run a search on all the vendors of the specific brand of lingerie the victim was wearing when she was discovered, and she was able to compare the credit card purchases against missing persons in the area, but we couldn't come up with anything. How about you? Are you having any better luck?"

"Well, whoever killed this girl went to a lot of trouble to save her blood. All the stabbing was postmortem and there was no lividity."

"That explains the amount of blood found on Candice Pierce's purse. If she was exsanguinated and the unsub collected her blood, he's obviously keeping it for a reason."

"But if he didn't know the victim then what's the point of the overkill? Why stab her repeatedly after he's already killed her?" Rossi asked.

"I'm still not convinced he _didn't_ know the victim. I was thinking about her panties and…

"There was no sexual assault."

"Why would he manipulate her clothing like that unless he was trying to hide his motive for killing her? I think he's connected to her somehow. I know Hotch wanted me to work on victimology, but I think I need to get over to the morgue. I'd like to take a look at her, myself."

"Fine. I'm headed back in. I'll see what I can help Garcia come up with on the other girls."

"Just don't bring any food with you…" Reid mumbled.

….

Detective Marsh met Agent Hotchner outside the Pierce home. "Thank you for coming, Agent. Where's the rest of your team?" He extended his hand to Aaron Hotchner and was met with a cold stare.

"Already in the field, working the case. Were you aware that Candice Pierce is pregnant?"

"Well, there was reason to believe she might be, but I hadn't gotten anything but hearsay from her friends…" Hotch held his hand up cutting the detective off.

"Then why wasn't my team made aware as well?"

"Her parents hadn't confirmed it. Look, their daughter is missing. If they knew she was pregnant, don't you think they'd volunteer that information? I didn't want to go getting anybody's parents more upset than they absolutely need to be at this point. Are you going to propose that a nice, Christian girl got pregnant out of wedlock, and it might have something to do with her disappearance?"

"That's exactly what I'm going to do if it leads us to any information that could help to find her." Hotch marched past the detective and up the front steps of the Pierce home.

"It wasn't like Candice to come home in the middle of the semester, no," Mrs. Pierce handed Agent Hotchner a framed photograph of Candice at dinner with several other students. "She just stayed for the weekend. She was exhausted and I tried to talk her into staying on another day but she said she had to get back for meetings with her department."

"Did she seem preoccupied while she was here? Maybe moody, or distracted?"

"She hasn't been thinking clearly the last few months. She started dating a man who's much older than her. That's out of character for Candice."

"He's only ten years older, Karen." Mr. Pierce shook his head.

"Do you know much about their relationship?"

"You don't think Tim did something to her?" Karen Pierce sat down suddenly and looked to her husband.

"That's not what I'm suggesting, ma'am."

"You're suggesting Candice is pregnant…" Casey Pierce stared at Agent Hotchner in an effort to avoid meeting his wife's eyes.

"Is she pregnant?" Hotch focused on Candice's father.

"No!" Mrs. Pierce shouted.

"Yes…"

"Casey! What…?"

"We located a blog where Candice talks about the baby and coming home to tell you about the pregnancy. She has a kind of calendar countdown to her due date as well. We just needed to confirm it with you." Hotchner tried to be as delicate as possible.

"She told me Sunday morning. It was too unusual for her to not have a cup of coffee with me. She was scared to tell us… to tell Karen. What would that have to do with her disappearing?"

"Maybe nothing. But any information we can gather right now can only be helpful."

….

"Right now we have very little to go on. We could be looking for a man in his early twenties to mid forties. He's most likely awkward in social situations to the point that he's had very few, if any, normal relationships. He almost certainly has a type, although he seems to be taking girls at random. There _is something_ that connects these girls, even if a pattern hasn't emerged yet. He's taking young, attractive, Caucasian women in their early twenties. While one girl has been discovered in the D.C. area, and one disappeared from BWI, we aren't certain where he is finding them. We aren't sure where Jane Doe was abducted, and Jessica Austen was last seen on campus at U. Mass. This is the part we like least about this job," Hotch addressed the Arlington P.D. "This is where we have to wait."

"Wait for what, Agent?"

Hotch was silent as he scanned the faces of the men and women assembled around him. Morgan stood and walked out of the assembly of officers and detectives.

"More victims…" Reid trailed off softly.

….

"The parents weren't thrilled Candice was dating an older man and they were less than thrilled when they found out he's the father of her baby."

"Yeah. The mother didn't even know she was pregnant." Emily pointed out.

"Not only was he the father but he was her instructor," Reid looked down at his notes. "In her A&P classes as well as her practical physical rehab course. If she got pregnant and it got out on campus, that could cost him his job, not to mention his bachelor lifestyle. It could be a motive. Scott Peterson was reported as saying he'd hoped for sterility when people congratulated him on becoming a father."

"But that doesn't connect this guy in any way with Jessie Austen. He hasn't left Searcy since before the fall semester started."

"Yeah, but Morgan," Prentice sat up straighter. "You were in that dorm room with me at U. Mass. You saw the way those girls lived."

"What do you mean?" Hotch pounced.

"They both had something to hide from their parents. Lifestyle." Morgan nodded with realization.

"Jessica Austen is a lesbian – or at the very least, bisexual. You tell me her dad knew about that," Emily raised her eyebrows at Hotch.

"It doesn't point back to Tim Evans, but maybe it's a facet of the unsub's type," Reid pulled out his cell phone. "Garcia, see what you can find out about Jessica and Candice's past social lives. Did they like to go to parties, out to clubs? Shoplifting, drugs, alcohol abuse, anything that they might be ashamed about. Go back to high school. Candice seemed fairly tame in her lifestyle but she might have been more rebellious before college."

"Will do. Search out the nitty-gritty. Over and out."

"I'm going to call the M.E. and have her run another tox screen on Jane Doe."

"Her labs came back clean," Rossi looked confused.

"As far as her blood work, yes. But we don't know how long the unsub had her. We're not even certain on a death date. She was frozen and thawed out."

"That's something we've seen before."

"I know. I recognized it when I went to the morgue. I'm going to have them run a toxicology report on her hair, and see what kind of a timeline we can get off it."

"What makes you so certain she was a user?" Hotch asked.

"It's, uh," Reid began dialing his phone as he walked toward the exit. "A hunch."

* * *

A/N: I cannot promise weekly, or even bi-weekly updates for this story. Those of you who have followed my other stories know that my updates vary from a few chapters a week, to one every couple of months. There are reasons for that, but we'll just chalk it up to real life. BTW, if there's anyone wanting to beta for this one, let me know. I've never had a beta before so it should be an experience. So, until next update (hopefully soon).

-Yve


	2. Chapter 2

_I'm scratching at the surface now  
And I'm trying hard to work it out  
So much has gone misunderstood  
This mystery only leads to doubt_

_Glen Hansard_

Reid was leaving the Chevy Chase Community Center, headed back to his car. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket and glanced at his watch. Ten twelve P.M. It might be Garcia with history on the missing girls. Or it might be Hotch… He shuddered at the thought of another drained and thawed body dumped in a park. But it was a number he didn't recognize.

"This is Dr. Reid."

"S…S.A. Spencer Reid, with the FBI?" There was plenty of background noise, and the woman sounded uncertain of her goal in contacting him.

"This is Special Agent Spencer Reid." It sounded strange to refer to himself that way. Gideon had 'burned' the Dr. part into everyone's brain.

"I'm Lyn. I'm a bartender at Black Squirrel on 18th." He slowed his pace to near standing. Why would a bartender have his number? "Look, there's a girl here, and she doesn't have a phone on her, and she's pretty messed up. Your card was in her wallet. Her license says Cecily…"

"Allen," he supplied for the bartender.

"Yeah, well, your friend is plastered. So, if you could come grab her, I would greatly appreciate it."

Reid arrived at the bar fifteen minutes later. He felt like a black sheep even more once he walked through the entrance. Cecily was propped on a bar stool at the end of the bar, slumped in an uncomfortable looking position against the wall.

"You must be Agent Reid," a perky girl in jeans and a tight fitting, low cut t-shirt called from across the bar. He made his way through the smoky room toward the girl on the stool, sidestepping a patron who wasn't paying attention to where he was stumbling.

"Uh… how much did you serve her?"

"Two. Scotch and a Guinness. She didn't finish the beer though. She usually a lightweight?"

"I wouldn't know. Is she even twenty-one?" The bartender slid a license across the bar top at him. "Almost twenty-two." He glanced around the room for any sign of someone concerned for the girl's wellbeing. "Was she with anyone?"

"I couldn't tell ya. She looked kinda pissed and she kept checking the door. Figure maybe she got stood up. You gonna settle up for her?"

Reid pulled his attention away from Cecily's face, glistening with perspiration and no sign of consciousness. He passed the bartender his credit card, before trying to wake the heap of a girl in front of him.

"Cecily?" She moaned softly. "Cecily, it's Dr. Reid. Spencer Reid." She shifted slightly and Reid was beginning to hope he could put her in a cab and send her on her way. Then she shifted forward and vomited directly onto his shoes. The bartender giggled and handed his credit card back to him. "Oh… Thank you."

With the help of a somewhat sober patron, he managed to maneuver her into his backseat and headed down the road to his apartment.

….

"Mmph," came the muffled sound from the couch behind him. Reid had fallen asleep on the floor with a book of poetry resting on his knee. He tried to stand up quietly but failed, realizing his foot had fallen asleep. He sat back down with a thump.

"Shit," he cursed under his breath. He heard another drawn out moan come from behind him. "Sorry. Do you want…" he swallowed a little nervously. "Want some coffee. Or water?"

"What?" Cecily croaked out as she struggled to push herself into a sitting position. "I need to throw up… Or, lie back down…" She sank back against the pillows Reid had propped behind her back. "Oh. God. Bright. And loud."

Spencer glanced around his small living room. It was quiet and the sun hadn't even completely risen outside the balcony doors. "Um… I'm going to get you some water. You should really re-hydrate." He ambled into his kitchen and poured a small glass of water before setting the coffee maker to auto. He could do with a cup of coffee himself. "Here," he placed the glass into her outstretched hand. She had her knees pulled up to her chest and he sat down on the room at the end of the sofa.

She took a gulp and cracked an eye toward the dawn-lightening windows. Then she turned her gaze on him.

"Hi." He waved sheepishly.

"What… am I doing… here?" She narrowed her gaze at him. "Spencer?" She hadn't seen him in almost six months.

"Yeah. You had my card in your wallet, and the bartender last night called me to come get you. She couldn't find your phone and I couldn't wake you up. I didn't know where you lived – I guessed midtown cause you mentioned you don't own a car and you sometimes walk to work…" he realized he was getting lost in the details again, something Cecily was no doubt having trouble with right now. "Well… I couldn't leave you there. So I brought you back here. Were you there by yourself?"

She struggled to remember where 'there' was. "Yes. Yeah. Where are we?"

"My apartment." It was a statement, but somehow sounded like a question.

"I, uh, swear I had my phone last night. Now I'm screwed, my whole life was on that phone.… Sorry. Thank you very much for taking care of me. I hope I didn't ruin your evening…?"

"No," he couldn't help a small smile. "Just my shoes." He looked at the girl sitting on his couch, wondering what to do next. "Do you think you could keep down a cup of coffee?"

"I can sure as hell try."

"You know, you shouldn't go out drinking alone like that. It could be pretty dangerous," Reid began to instruct as he headed for the coffee cups. He stopped himself before going into just how dangerous it could be.

"Yeah well, that wasn't the plan. I know you don't know me well, but I swear I never end up on random people's couches. I don't even remember having that much to drink."

"The bartender said she had only served you two drinks. Were you drinking at another bar before that?"

"To tell you the truth," she grunted as she swung her legs off of Spencer's sofa. "I'm not even sure where I was or why I was there. Where did you pick me up?"

"Black Squirrel." He handed Cecily her cup of coffee as he sat down next to her with his own. "I just made it like mine. I hope that's ok." She took a sip and quickly turned a look of disgust into a shaky smile.

"You're a sugar addict…"

"Sorry. I have some milk…" as he said it, she shoved the cup back into his hands. He stood and headed to the kitchen to doctor her coffee. On his way back his cell phone began ringing. "I have to take this," he winced.

Cecily took the coffee from him and settled back on the couch.

"Hotch?" Reid made his way out to his balcony, quietly closing the door behind him.

"Garcia hasn't come up with much on the girls, though she's trying to be as discreet as possible. The parents aren't too thrilled about us digging so we feel like we've got something there. Any luck with the lab?"

"They were backed up but they agreed to rush it, so we should have something by the morning. Do you need me in anytime soon today?"

"It's Sunday. No new victims, and until we have something more to add to the profile our hands are kind of tied. But keep your phone close by. There's no telling when his timeline will begin to escalate."

"Sure. Let me know if Garcia finds anything useful." They disconnected and Spencer re-entered his living room. The couch was now empty and the half-full cup of coffee sat on the floor next to his book of poetry. He could hear water going in his hall bathroom and decided to sit and read some more while he waited on Cecily to emerge.

_When the watchers die_

_They will try to take us with them_

_To keep them company, repeat the story line_

"You're a fan of Billy Corgan?" Cecily asked as she returned to the living room. Her hair had been smoothed back into a ponytail and she'd rinsed her face and mouth out with water. She looked better, but still pretty ragged.

"I'm a fan of literature," Spencer laid down _Blinking With Fists_ and indicated the stacks of books lining his living room walls.

Cecily scanned the room for the first time that morning. There were various worn and beat up looking wooden bookcases lining the walls. They were filled with books, which were, in stark contrast to the shelves housing them, in immaculate condition. There was such an overflow in fact that there were sturdier hardbound books lining the windowsills, their spines facing upwards. In addition to the books and bookcases, there was the couch on which they sat – a comfortably worn in, grey corduroy sofa with a chaise extending from the left side – and a black butterfly chair tucked into one corner. There was also a small flat panel television mounted above one of the shorter bookcases. The disorganization felt homey, but also a little solitary.

"I'm off of work for the better part of the day… Well, I might be working a little from the apartment if Garcia finds anything…" Spencer trailed off, realizing he shouldn't be discussing the case with Cecily. "You should get some food in your system. I can take you to get some breakfast and we could try to locate your phone…" He looked sincerely concerned.

"Oh, really, that isn't necessary. You've gone out of your way already. I can take care of myself from here." She watched his expression fall with her words.

"You should at least let me give you a lift home. You still look pale – I don't think it's safe for you to be on a train or bus by yourself just yet."

"Umm. Okay… deal."

….

"There is an article in the _Arlington Gazette_ about U. Mass. student, Jared Austen who died tragically at age twenty-one of heart failure. Jared was a native of Arlington, VA and a graduate of Wakefield High School. He was studying speech therapy in college. The article says he was found by a friend in the restroom of a coffee shop and local study hang out a few blocks from campus. His sister, Jessica Austen – that's our missing girly – refused to take more than a week away from U. Mass. where she was also attending college." Garcia began rattling off the information she had collected thus far on Jessica. "Jessie has no juvenile arrests, no disciplinary actions against her throughout high school or college. The only thing even remotely questionable about our girl is a phyc. eval. that was recommended by the University Guidance Department following her brother's death. It was recommended that she take a leave of absence from her studies for a semester and seek continued counseling – both of which she declined. Brother Jared's past, however is freckled with inconsistencies. Arrested at twelve for public intoxication of a minor. Then he's clean till age fifteen where questionable amounts of marijuana were discovered in his locker during a random school drug search."

"What exactly does 'questionable amounts' mean," Rossi interrupted as he and Prentiss stood in front of Garcia's desk.

"I wouldn't know anything about such matters, Sir – I plead the fifth. Moving on. No apparent disciplinary action was taken against Jared. He wasn't even suspended. His grades picked up from Sophomore year to Senior year when he was heavily active in NHS and Interact Club, and graduated in the top ten percent from Wakefield High."

"Something changed his behavior around the age of fifteen. Hotch said that's when his mother was killed in a car accident," Prentiss recalled.

"She died of massive internal hemorrhaging two months after Jared was caught with the pot. She was hit by a drunk driver." Garcia turned to face them with a look of utter let-down spreading across her features.

"That doesn't say much about Jessie, Garcia. Was that all you could find?"

"No. The brother's obituary and the article in the _Gazette_ don't mention much about cause of death – other than the afore mentioned heart failure – but the autopsy results state that the heart failure was due to an apparent interaction between the TCA's found in his system – in this case, an overdose of Clomipromine, which was legally prescribed to him – and copious amounts of alcohol. Alcohol which the 'coffee shop and study hang out' serves, by the way."

"What was the Clomipromine for?" Rossi asked.

"Depression."

"And he was self medicating with the alcohol," Emily pointed out. "I wonder how long that had been going on without anyone taking notice?"

"You think Jessie was self medicating too?"

"I'll see what I can dig up on the social networks," Garcia turned quickly back to her computers.

"What do you think made Reid suspect Jane Doe of being an addict?" Emily asked Rossi in a low voice.

"Some people tend to recognize their worst traits in others…"

….

Cecily kept glancing out the car window at every café and Starbucks they passed. The ride had been quiet for the last ten minutes, the only communication being navigation passing from her to Reid.

"I don't know about you but I could use a _real _cup of coffee. I usually don't make my own," he said casually. "You know of anywhere near your place we could grab some?"

"You really want to get me to eat something, huh?"

"Please?" He glanced at her with such concern in his eyes that she couldn't say no.

She directed him to a small house tucked into a residential corner a few blocks from her apartment. It was a little Victorian structure that housed a small café. The furnishings were second hand but comfortable, and the atmosphere on Sunday morning was relaxed, with patrons reading the paper and sipping their coffee. It wasn't very busy and the music was light. Cecily picked up a menu at the door and led him to a dim corner with a ragged loveseat and weathered coffee table.

She handed him the menu and curled up on the seat next to him, pulling her feet up beneath her. She studied him as he studied the menu, trying to ignore the faint smell of sweat coming from her day old clothing. He rested his right hand on his left knee rubbing slightly, and it made her frown.

Just then the waitress came for their order.

"One egg, scrambled over medium, dry English muffin, and a large coffee with cream," she read back to Cecily. "And for you, sir?"

"Large coffee."

"Cream or sugar?"

"Sugar, thank you." Spencer smiled as the girl retreated to the kitchen. He turned to look at Cecily. She was curled into herself, her body language clearly reading 'off-limits!'. "Are you alright? You've been quiet… really quiet."

"Aside from the fact that I'm experiencing the worst hangover I've ever experienced multiplied by the flu to the nth degree?" He winced at the remark and she immediately regretted it. "Sorry. I just don't socialize with patients outside of work. Not used to it."

"Well… I'm technically not a patient anymore," he hedged. "Not that that keeps you from watching my range of motion." It was her turn to wince.

"Occupational hazard. I tend to notice how people move, whether I want to or not."

Reid only nodded. He could empathize with her due to his own impulse to profile people off the clock. Their coffee arrived along with a small glass pitcher of cream and a bowl of fine sugar with a spoon.

"Food will be along soon."

They began sipping their coffee in relative silence as Reid thought about the conversations he used to have with Cecily at the Physical Therapy Clinic. She had been a clinic aide and had assisted him during his knee rehab. They hadn't gotten to know much about each other personally, but he had found himself enjoying his clinic days with her more than with the other aide. He was less personable and Reid's attempts to socialize with him had been quickly shrugged off.

"_I figure, the better attitude I have about rehab, the better attitude my patients tend to have. You have to want to heal, so I might as well make it as pleasant an experience as possible," _she had explained when he'd asked her about it one day._ "Mike is dealing with exams, and he looks at this as another step in the ladder. I guess he feels like he has better things to do."_

That positive attitude from six months ago had begun to wane. "Well… what's the diagnosis?" He smiled, trying to put her at ease.

"You aren't exercising."

"Yeah, I don't exactly have a lot of free time. I travel a lot for work and between that and other… um, other commitments… You know, I-I just haven't found the time."

"It's ok. I won't tell," she whispered leaning forward in her seat with a small smile.

"What about you? Did you ever make the time to head back to school?" She had mentioned before that she had been in training to be a licensed physical therapy assistant before she had moved home unexpectedly.

"What, and quit being an aide? Are you kidding? I love picking up sweaty towels, scrubbing down whirlpools and filling up ice bags." She shook her head and resumed her defensive posture from moments ago. They ate their breakfast quickly and quietly before paying the checks and heading for the street.

"My apartment is just a little further. I can walk from here."

"I'd be happy to walk with you… if you'd like," Reid shrugged. Cecily motioned for him to follow her and they took off down the street together.

"That's me," she indicated a small, three unit building half a block ahead. "Up top." The higher the apartment the lower the rent in places like this. Ground floor was prime real estate, but Cecily didn't mind the near two hundred dollar a month discount it afforded her. She reached into her bag to fish for her keys and stopped dead in her tracks as she glanced at the sidewalk in front of her.

Spencer almost bumped into her. "Whoa. You alright?" He rested a hand on her elbow as he maneuvered around to stand in front of her. He followed her gaze down to the sidewalk and the words scrawled in chalk there.

_Slowly creeping back, Cessie. Welcome back. Welcome home._

The lines were repeated every few feet until they reached her apartment building. "Do you go by 'Cessie'?" Reid asked as he reached into his back pocket fishing out his cell phone.

"My dad and my, uh… close friends. Nobody but family has called me that in years."

Reid turned them around and headed back to the café as he dialed the police station. "Yes, could you send a unit out to 12625 Ames Pl.? Suspected stalking. No. No, I'm a… ah, friend with the FBI. I'll be waiting with her."

They made it back to the café quickly and Reid spoke with the manager, informing them there would be a police officer on the premises shortly. As he sat down at a small table with Cecily, his cell phone buzzed. It was a text message from Morgan.

_BAU n 20. PG found something._

He looked nervously from his phone to the girl next to him, not wanting to leave her to navigate the situation alone.


	3. Chapter 3

_There is no tragedy in life like the death of a child._

_Dwight D. Eisenhower _

"Meet Mallory Young – better known to you as our current Jane Doe." Garcia flashed three pictures up on screen: a young, pale redhead leaning out over a balcony rail waving to the person behind the camera, the same girl in mug shot, and, finally, the photo the team began with – Mallory Young lying on the coroner's table. "I couldn't come up with anything quickly via facial recognition because Mallory had never been arrested in Virginia. So I widened my search nationally – also to account for the time-suck – and came up with this. She was arrested twice on misdemeanor drug charges five years ago in Charlotte, SC where she was ordered to serve three months in the county jail and attend Drug Court for six months – that's kind of an out patient rehab."

Reid flew through the door just then making his apologies. Garcia continued. "Mallory's drug of choice was Ritalin. She also dabbled with Adderall, Stratera and Clomipromine."

"That's interesting," Prentiss spoke up.

"Why?" Reid asked, quickly scanning through the folder lying on the table in front of him.

"Jared Austen – Jessica's brother – overdosed on Clomipromine and alcohol three years ago," Garcia filled him in. "But, Boy Genius was right. They all had – or have – a history of drug use either closely surrounding them or directly related to them. Candice was no exception. She was pulled from Wakefield High in the first nine-week period of her senior year, and sent to a private, Christian school for the duration of her high school career. She graduated early and made a point of spending the next few months with her classmates from Wakefield before leaving for Harding University in the fall. Apparently her parents thought the atmosphere at the private school would discourage further drug use."

"Let me guess. She was addicted to ADD meds?" Rossi asked.

"Nope. She was found wandering the neighborhood after a party at her friends house, severely dehydrated and still high on ecstasy."

"Garcia, what else do we know about Mallory Young?" Hotch moved them all back on topic.

"Not much, Sir. No missing person's filed. She didn't have a steady job and isn't on file with Virginia DPS. But she is on South Carolina Vital Records as the mother of Annabelle Young, age four."

"See what you can dig up on Annabelle. If Mallory had custody of her child or kept in touch with whoever did, someone is missing her."

"Already checking into it, Sir, but it's going to be tricky since the kid isn't school aged. If she's on record anywhere, it's likely to be a private daycare, since a lot of public schools won't enroll kids under age five. And private school records are a lot more difficult to weed out."

"Come on, sweet stuff. Are you telling me you can't work your magic…" She cut Morgan off.

"Ah. I did not say that. Did I say that? I said 'more difficult'. I'm running several searches before resorting to sifting through the numerous private schools."

Reid joined Emily and Morgan as they began weaving the new information about Mallory Young into the victimology.

"We got a girl with an alternative sexual lifestyle, an ultra Christian with prior drug use who's pregnant out of wedlock, and a former drug addict single mom. Two of the victims know each other, but reportedly aren't friends… where is this supposed to match up?" Morgan fidgeted in his seat.

"Just because Candice and Jessie aren't friends doesn't mean they didn't share common friends – or enemies – when they were at the same high school," Prentiss offered.

"Okay." Morgan sat up straighter. "Let's start with any common activities they participated in at school or around the community. But what else? That only connects two out of three. What about Mallory Young?"

"They might have had the same dealer."

"By all accounts Jessie Austen was never involved with drugs and Candice was never caught using after the ecstasy incident," Reid interjected.

"Oh that doesn't mean anything – just that they hid it well," Emily argued. "Jarred and Jessie grew up in the same household. Who's to say she didn't learn how to be discrete from her brother? And he _was_ a user who relapsed. She might have too. You pointed us in the directions of the drug use first of all, Reid."

Reid shrugged silently, glancing down at his watch.

"We've all heard about 'the preacher's kids' going wild as soon as they're away from home," Morgan pointed out, now in favor of Prentiss' argument.

"Mr. Pierce wasn't a preacher," Reid knit his brows together in confusion.

"It's just an expression," Emily laughed. "It means the kids you least expect trouble from usually cause the most."

Morgan noticed him look a second time at his watch. "You got somewhere to be, Reid?"

"It may be more likely that Candice and Jessie were connected, but Mallory was just a random victim," Reid said, ignoring Morgan's question. "He may not have even intended to kill at first."

"So, he kills Mallory first – maybe by accident – then he realizes he likes killing, and seeks out the younger girls," Prentiss infers. "But it doesn't answer the question of how Pierce and Austen are connected – either to each other, or the unsub."

"Lets look into the girls common friends and acquaintances, then we'll move onto the drug dealer theory. I know just the girl who could help." Morgan pulled out his phone and dialed Garcia in her office down the hall.

"No news on Young the younger yet," she chirped before even offering a hello.

"I've got another riddle for you, mama."

"And you're sending an assistant my way, when?"

Reid stood and stretched, glancing again at his watch.

"You okay?" Emily asked him quietly, as Morgan explained their new theories to Garcia.

"What? Yeah," he said, a little defensively. "I actually do have someplace to get to – but I'll have my cell on."

"Yeah, sure. Do what you need to do, Reid. We'll call." Prentice gave him an understanding nod as he grabbed his coat and headed out of the conference room.

"Where's he goin'?"

"_Meeting,_" Prentice mouthed. "Honestly, with as much drug abuse as we see in this job, I'm surprised he doesn't go more often."

"He goes when he needs to," Morgan sighed. "And when he can't, he knows he's among friends."

….

Feeling a little guilty about leaving under vague pretenses, Spencer promised himself that he would hit up the eight o'clock meeting tonight – if he wasn't back in the office by then. He hiked up the two flights of stairs in the old converted apartment building, slightly winded by the time he made it to the top. As he reached his hand forward to rig the bell, the door opened.

"Oh, God! Spencer," Cecily dropped her garbage bags onto the front porch, startled.

"I'm so sorry," he reached down to help her pick up one of the bags.

"No, leave it. Come on in – I'll take them down later." He straightened up and followed her inside.

He walked into a small efficiency apartment that reminded him of the place he had stayed in grad school. There was a basket with clean laundry sitting on the full bed that stuck out from one wall. Backed up against the length of the bed were two three foot high book cases over-full and sitting side by side – making it into a kind of 'day bed' – with pillows leaning against them. He heard a dishwasher running in the background as Cecily reached for the remote to mute the small television that sat on an end table across from the bed. She then walked across the room and into the kitchenette area.

"Do you want something to drink? Lemonade, Dr. Pepper, water?"

"I'll take a Dr. Pepper, thank you," he answered, still taking in his surroundings. There were pictures hung on the light chocolate colored walls with metal pushpins. They looked like they'd been printed from a home printer, and were mostly abstracts or landscapes. Then he spotted the computer desk with a laptop, a few years old, and an inexpensive printer sitting on its surface. He took a few steps toward the kitchen as Cecily poured the soda into a glass with some ice. "You don't look like you're packing…?"

"That's because I'm not," she sighed. She looked tired. "They're sending a patrol car by every hour and I have some detective's card. They told me to call if I could think of anybody that might be doing it. I don't know who… And I still don't have my phone to even call anyone with." She reached her hand behind her and began rubbing the back of her neck, obviously tense.

"I may be able to help you out there." Spencer reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a GoPhone. "It's pretty lo-fi, but it makes calls. And you can call the police – hopefully you won't have to – or you can call me… Whatever you need."

"Spencer… thank you. Really, thank you." She smiled and accepted the phone graciously.

"It's not…" Just then, Reid's phone began vibrating loudly in his pocket. "Ah, sorry. Work," he said as he looked at the Caller ID.

"I think you might want to get back up here," Prentiss informed him.

"Why? What's going on?"

"A few things. Are you busy?"

"No," he smiled apologetically at Cecily. "I'm, uh, on my way."

….

"What's up?"

"Hotch got a call from Mr. Austen. He saw a strange car parked across the street and thought it might have something to do with Jessie. So Hotch, Rossi and Morgan went out to check on it. And Garcia's got something on Mallory Young's daughter," Emily filled him in.

As Reid was shedding his coat and bag, the other three profilers filed through the door, a young girl being led in front by Morgan into an interview room, like a kid being taken to the principal's office.

"Why didn't they take her to the police station for questioning?" He asked Prentiss.

"Because she's not a suspect. She's Jessie Austen's girlfriend," she sighed.

"And she just showed up at the Austen house? I'm guessing Mr. Austen wasn't very happy about that."

"You'd be guessing right," Rossi said as he approached the two of them. "Liz showed up and just sat outside, mustering her courage, when Mr. Austen spotted her car and got nervous."

"A car he'd never seen before," Reid guessed again.

"Yes, since Jessie definitely never mentioned Liz to her dad. By the time we arrived, they were standing on the front porch yelling at each other. She didn't talk much on the way back. Let's see what's going on."

They followed Rossi down a hallway and past a few more offices before reaching the interview room. Both Hotch and Morgan stood on this side of the two-way mirror. Hotch stood with his arms crossed and a signature tight line set to his mouth, while Morgan leaned against the wall, shaking his head.

"Has she said _anything_?" Prentiss asked.

"No. She's upset and I'm sure she feels we sided with Mr. Austen by bringing her here," Hotchner said.

"So you don't think she's involved?" Prentiss asked, audibly relieved.

"Did you?" Morgan countered. "She has no privacy to speak of beyond her dorm room. She's genuinely distraught, and there's nothing in our preliminary profile that points to a female unsub. No. I just think she did a stupid thing choosing this moment to introduce herself to her girlfriend's dad."

"Still, we can't rule out the possibility of a female unsub, and those people closest to the victims are always people of interest." Hotch hadn't taken his eyes off the girl behind the glass.

"Guilty until proven innocent," Prentiss sighed, tired of the way things had to work – but there was a good reason they worked that way; it was often the case that a partner or family member was at the heart of the crime. "I'll go talk to her."

"No. I want Reid to do it," Hotch held Emily back. "He's non-threatening and he's younger than any of us. She won't talk to an alpha male, and you've already given her sympathy at her dorm. She'll view you as a protector." He looked at Reid, who nodded and made his way through the door.

Liz was sitting in a chair, pushed back from the table, and leaning her head back against the wall. She startled when Reid entered the room. He noticed the dark circles under her eyes, and her incredibly slight frame.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Dr. Spencer Reid."

"What? They think I'm crazy now?" She jutted her chin out, a show of defense.

"Not that kind of doctor," he smiled as he took a seat. "I'm an FBI agent and I work with agents Morgan and Prentiss, and the other two agents you met today."

"What kind of doctor?"

"I study a few things, but mainly what I do at the BAU – what we all do – is study human behavior. That's how we plan to find whoever took Jessie."

"And you think I had something to do with it?"

"The people closest to the victims are usually considered persons of interest in a case like this." He gave her a moment to process what he had just told her. "You and Jessie were close. You were involved sexually, weren't you?" He chose that word for a reason.

"It wasn't just sex!" she shouted as she leaned forward.

"Then it was a romantic relationship. I understand," he said smoothly. "So it must have really bothered you that she wouldn't let you meet her dad. She wouldn't even acknowledge that she was bisexual, right?" Again, he had chosen his words carefully.

"She wasn't bisexual!" Another outburst from the slight girl.

"So, why were you going against her wishes by meeting her dad?"

She was silent for a few minutes. "I thought that it would be best for the people that loved her to be close to each other," she said softly. "If Jared was still around I would be with him instead."

"You speak as if Jessie is dead and Jared has just disappeared." She was silent at that. "Did you plan on staying in the area after you met Mr. Austen?"

"Yeah. I mean, this is where you guys are looking, right? I want to know what's going on."

"We actually haven't narrowed down the likely area of abduction. Jessie could have been kidnapped anywhere between here and U. Mass. Is there any reason we should be focusing on Alexandria or the District area?"

"I just thought… since you work here…" She trailed off before standing up suddenly and crossing her arms. "Do you have some reason to keep me here or can I go?"

"No, no. This was just an interview. We may have a few more questions later though, and I know we already have your contact information."

She grabbed her purse from the chair back and walked calmly around the table, stopping in front of him. "Can I have your card? In case I think of anything."

He raised his eyebrows and removed a business card from his wallet, handing it to her.

"_That_ was an interesting interview," Rossi said as Reid regrouped with them after Liz left.

"Yeah. It was."

….

"Meet Annabelle Young," Garcia sighed as she brought up the little girls picture on the LCD in the conference room. She then progressed to the next slide.

"Is that an obituary?" Morgan asked, taken aback by the article now on the screen.

"'Fraid so, sweetie. It doesn't say anything about the manor of death, only that she is survived by her grandparents – only one set mentioned – and two cousins. No mention of 'mom'. I did a search for any other news articles around the time of her death that involved accident, car wrecks, etc. This is what I found." Reid took the opportunity to begin reading the next article Garcie flashed onto the screen.

"Home fire in Laurels Park neighborhood. Two children perish. Police and firefighters responded to the blaze Sunday night, reported to 911 operators by neighbors. It took just under two hours for firefighters to get the fire under control, but by the time they began their search of the home, any occupants would certainly have died. The bodies of a young girl and an adolescent boy were recovered from the rear of the house, where the fire had been less severe. The children are believed to have died from smoke inhalation. The owner of the property was unable to be reached until several hours later when he showed up on the scene with a friend. The owner was the boys father and his friend the girls mother. Apparently the boy – age 13 – who was mentally handicapped, had been instructed to baby-sit the girl – age 3 ½ – until their parents returned. The children's names have been omitted out of respect for the families. Arson has been ruled out. It is unknown at this point weather any charges of negligence will be brought against the parents."

"I checked death records for Laurels Park, MA, and bingo. ME confirmed that Annabelle young died from smoke inhalation. The state never brought charges against the parents finding that they had suffered enough and…"

"No doubt the cost of prosecuting wasn't worth it to the D.A.," Hotch finished for her.

"Yes," she said sadly. "But what we did learn from all of this tragic information, is that Mallory Young was living less than twenty miles from U. Mass. Still haven't been able to pinpoint the time of her abduction yet, though."

"Reid?"

"I should get the results from the hair sample by the morning."

"And what did you get from your interview with Elizabeth Ryan?" Hotch prodded.

"She was definitely defensive – and trying to hide something. But it's difficult to tell if she was just confused about what she could admit to in her relationship with Jessie, or if it's something more."

"What do you mean? She hasn't tried to hide the fact that they were sexually involved," Prentiss pointed out.

"No. She's proud of it. She wants us to know. She's confused about what she should appear to want with regard to Jessie – whether she should consider her gone – and what we want from her. I think there's more she knows, but isn't telling us. I'm actually pretty certain that Jessie is gay, but I think Liz is bisexual. She was very defensive when I made the distinction that Jessie was bisexual. When she corrected me she didn't say, 'Jessie is gay,' or even, 'we're gay'. She said, 'she wasn't bisexual', both implying that Jessie is gone – at least in her mind – and that 'bisexual' is an important term to her. Either way, she's not sure how to represent herself to us. I just don't know why."

"She did seem a little friendly with Reid just before she left, asking for his card," Morgan remembered.

"You jealous?" Rossi teased. Morgan only rolled his eyes.

"I'm going to ask Detective Marsh to put surveillance on Ryan. In the meantime, someone needs to make notification to Mallory Young's family. And see if there's any more we can learn from them. Garcia," Hotch asked, "Have we located her next of kin yet?"

"She never married, sir. Her mom and stepfather moved to Roanoke Rapids, VA while Mallory was in jail in South Carolina."

"Morgan, Prentiss…"

"We'll head up there in the morning," Morgan said.

"Oh," Prentiss groaned. "Early morning road trip?"

"We could head out tonight and get a motel room. It's almost nine o'clock now. That puts us there around midnight."

"I'll get my go bag." Emily stood up and headed out the door.

Morgan stood and stretched. "For a case close to home we sure are getting in a lot of miles."

"Technically I would call this an interstate case. We know we've had abductions in at least two states – we have no reason to believe Jessie was anywhere but at school when she disappeared," Reid said as the others began dispersing from the room.

"What's your gut telling you, kid? Jessica Austen still alive?"

Reid stared at Morgan for a long moment. "I know what statistics say. But… Liz Ryan? She certainly thinks her girlfriend is gone – if not dead. Maybe… I don't know. When you try to apply the profile to Liz, it doesn't fit."

"She'd need strength and privacy to accomplish what our unsub has. She's a slight girl who lives in a dorm. Right now we don't have enough to point to her as anything more than a little strange. If she does know something, we'll find out." He gathered his things and left the conference room, leaving Reid behind, wondering where he could catch another late meeting.

….


End file.
